Is This Love?
by avrovulcan
Summary: Illya explores his feelings regarding a certain London based agent. WARNING: Contains mild het. Originally written for the Song Story Challenge on LJ. Part of my Illya and Rebecca series. Takes place after 'The Cabin'


"You're missing her."

Illya looked up at his partner, a puzzled expression on his face. The Russian hadn't realised he'd stopped writing his report of their last mission until Napoleon had interrupted his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"I said 'you're missing her'," Solo smirked as he continued, "I can see the signs," and thought to himself '_and you're wearing a cloak in a deep shade of blue.'_

Kuryakin snorted, "do not be ridiculous, I am not missing anyone."

Normally in control of his feelings and emotions, Illya discovered something had changed within him over the last few weeks. Something he never knew was missing had been found, it made his days brighter and his heart sing, but now Rebecca was back in England and it was as if the sun wasn't shining any more.

He thought back to the end of last week. He'd completed an assignment with Rebecca Andrews, an agent on temporary loan from the London office, but the extraction hadn't happened as planned and they'd ended up spending the night alone in a remote cabin.

He cast his mind back to that evening they spent on a rug in front of the fire, the moment he'd discovered Becca wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Illya remembered the feel of her as he ran his hands along her shapely body, the way it shivered as he found what brought her pleasure, how she responded to his every move, the pleasure he felt as she stroked his body and brought him to the edge of forever and how good it felt when he'd made love to her – several times – during the night. Waking up next to her in the morning was something he really hoped would happen again, but he knew it would be unlikely; they were, after all, working for offices on opposite side of the world.

"You're smiling. I'd better call Medical and get you checked out, tovarisch, this could be serious," Napoleon grinned, as he watched the very rare show of emotions cross the Russians face.

"It is not so unusual for me to smile, my friend, when I have something to smile about."

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you and Miss Andrews in that cabin?"

"I have already told you, we just got to know each other a bit better," Illya replied with a sly grin.

"And just how much better would that be, tovarisch?"

"A gentleman never tells."

"You're Russian, so give."

Before Illya could retort, the intercom on Napoleons desk buzzed, it was Waverly asking for Solo to join him in his office.

The American sighed and rose from his chair, "I wonder what he wants now? As far as I know we're not due any assignments for a couple of days."

"If you do not go, you will not find out," the Russian replied; glad of the call out and hoping whatever it was would distract his friend enough from pursuing the current topic of conversation.

Kuryakin watched the steel door slide shut after his partner left the office. The discussion with Napoleon had brought these feelings he'd developed for Rebecca to the forefront.

Knowing it wasn't possible to continue a relationship with her; he'd tried to push them to the side and immersed himself in his work, hoping they would gradually fade away.

Illya now knew they weren't, if anything they were stronger, but how he was going to deal with them he didn't know, he looked down at the file in front of him; it was no good, he couldn't concentrate on it now, too much was going on in his head.

He leaned back in his chair and thought of the last time he'd spent a night with Rebecca. It was the evening before she left for London, the two of them had enjoyed a meal out together: salmon cooked in sherry, giving it a delicate flavour, new potatoes sprinkled with dried mixed herbs and smothered in butter, accompanied with fresh pettis pois and baby carrots followed by chocolate pudding for dessert.

Napoleon already had a date, so hadn't joined them. Though he'd never let on to Illya, he'd done it purposely; he wanted his friend to have time alone with the British agent after he realised something was blossoming between them.

Once dinner was over, they went for a leisurely walk, enjoying each other's company. After considering for a while, Illya decided to take Rebecca back to his small apartment, preferring the privacy it would give over the guest accommodation in HQ where she had been staying.

Rebecca hadn't commented in the sparseness of his home, for which he was grateful; though he hadn't brought many women to his abode, they always seemed to mention the lack of possessions. Instead Becca saw his jazz record collection and asked if she could have a look.

"Of course, do you like jazz?"

"I'm not a great jazz fan, but there are some songs I quite like. Can I put this one on?"

"Certainly, please do. I will make some coffee or would you prefer tea?"

"I'd love a cup of tea please."

Becca placed the disk on the turntable and 'Ain't Misbehaving' filled the room, she sat on the sofa, kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs under her, Illya brought in two steaming mugs, handing one to her before seating himself next to her.

"Ah, thank you. Just what I needed," Rebecca sighed as she took a sip.

"You are most welcome," Illya smiled, before adding sadly, "it is disappointing you are going home tomorrow."

"I know, but I have to go back, maybe Mr. Waverly will ask for me again sometime. You never know."

"That is true."

They sat and chatted for a while, comfortable in each other's company. Soon it was quite late, and reluctantly, Rebecca started to make a move.

"I'll miss you Illya," Rebecca said as she put her mug down, "thank you for a lovely evening. I shall remember it for a long time."

'_Hell, it is now or never'_ Illya thought to himself.

"I shall miss you too, but you do not have to go just yet," he blushed slightly, after all it was Napoleon who was good at this kind of thing not him, and continued nervously, "will you stay the night with me?"

She smiled and took his hand, "I thought you were never going to ask."

"I was not sure if you would want to,"

"Didn't that night in the cabin give you a clue?"

She leaned over and kissed him tenderly, that was all the Russian needed; he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer and returned her kiss. Breathless they came up for air, then Illya swept her up into his arms and carried her to his bedroom.

Gently laying her on the mattress, his heart swelled seeing her and knowing she wanted him; settling next to her he kissed the waiting lips. Hands explored heated bodies and clothes were discarded, naked bodies danced an erotic dance as they brought one another to the peak of existence before tumbling into heaven.

Exhausted, they lay in comfortable silence, as they recovered from their exertions. Rebecca's head rested on Illya's chest as he ran his fingers through her hair. She sighed with pleasure and contentment, neither tried to think beyond tomorrow, both wanting the night to go on forever. Finally sleep claimed them and they spent the rest of the night with their naked bodies entwined together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of the door sliding open brought the Russian out of his reverie. Napoleon entered the office and was looking quite pleased, an unusual occurrence after returning from The Old Man's office.

"You look like the cat that got the cream."

"It's canary, and yes it was a good meeting. Waverly is having an agent transferred over here permanently."

"The canary got the cream? I did not know they liked it. So, are you going to tell me who's being transferred?"

"No, the cat got the canary," Napoleon sighed, "and it's an agent from the London office."

Illya raised an eyebrow when no name came forth.

"You've been assigned to meet the plane on Tuesday."

"Tuesday, that is the day after tomorrow, surely someone from Section Three can do it?"

"Afraid not, The Old Man requested you do it personally."

Kuryakin sighed, knowing Waverly would expect him to do it with no complaints.

"Now, about what happened in that cabin…." Napoleon wasn't going to let it rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Illya leaned against the wall as he waited in the arrivals hall. Napoleon hadn't given him a name or even a description of the person he was collecting; just informed the Russian that the London agent would know him. Though unusual, it wasn't unheard of, sometimes it happened this way when the agent was an important one and they didn't want THRUSH to get wind of the contact.

As he scanned the passengers, he saw a familiar figure towards the back of the crowd; he pushed away from the wall and approached the barrier to get a better view, unsure if eyes were playing games with him.

The object of his attention came closer and a smile spread across his face. Damn Napoleon and The Old Man, did they know what they had done? Stood there in front of him, the agent from London was none other than Rebecca Andrews, with a smile equally as broad as the Russians. In a rare show of emotion, Illya took her in his arms and kissed her.

The sun had just started to shine in his life again.

Authors note. I have written two versions of this story, this one for Section 7 on LJ with mild het and one for The Map Room on LJ with a bit more het: .


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